


Handle Me With Care

by cavaleira



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Hannibal, Hannibal Loves Will, M/M, Pining, Top Will, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 13:09:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8981068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cavaleira/pseuds/cavaleira
Summary: "For so many years, Hannibal was utterly self-contained. He was the living antithesis of Donne’s words, not just an island, but a whole world unto himself.He was untouchable until the moment he first reached out for Will."Or, the one about all the times Hannibal has ached to touch Will and how it felt when Will finally reached out for him in return.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whatkindofcrazy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatkindofcrazy/gifts).



> A gift for whatkindofcrazy for the Hannigram Holiday Exchange. I hope you enjoy it!

Hannibal stands on Will’s front porch and watches Chiyoh walk away until her footsteps are no longer audible. She disappears into the distance like an apparition, leaving Hannibal alone with his thoughts once more. All is quiet and barren trees rise like antlers across a stark gray sky. Hannibal remembers walking out of Muskrat Farm and the trail of carnage he left behind. He stumbled but did not falter, spurred onward by the adrenaline of the kill and the warm weight of Will in his arms.

It’s been nearly 24 hours since they reached Will’s little house, devoid of everything but dusty furniture and the phantom sounds of dogs hanging in the air. Will was barely conscious as Hannibal carried him inside, bathed him and dressed him in comfortable clothes. It reminded Hannibal of Florence. In Will’s home, they found themselves in a similar tableau, but Hannibal approached the situation with a new perspective. While part of him would always long to consume Will, now he understood that his drive to preserve Will was stronger. He did not have it within him to leave Will behind a second time.

Hannibal kept his touch clinical while he cared for Will. Physical closeness belied the deep chasm between them. Will’s injuries required Hannibal’s aid, but the touch was one borne of necessity, not invitation. Will leaned into Hannibal’s touch as he worked, but it was just the instinctive, animal need for comfort.

With Will finally cleaned up and tucked into bed, Hannibal had sat in the chair beside him to settle in for the long haul. As the hours ticked by he considered the concept of time, filling his notebook with symbols of particle physics and quantum theory. He wandered through his memory palace and relived treasured moments of closeness with Will, the quiet intimacies he had been allowed for those brief points in time: a thumb against the shell of Will's ear, fingers at the nape of his neck, washing Will’s bloodied knuckles after he’d killed Randall Tier with his bare hands. But would Will ever respond so favorably to Hannibal’s touch if he wasn’t unconscious or playing a game? And furthermore, would Will ever be the one to reach out first?

When Hannibal goes back into the house, Will is finally stirring. Hannibal sits down in his chair again even though he longs to be closer, to hold Will and run fingers through his sleep-mussed hair, to press kisses into his skin. This is not an intimacy they have ever shared, but there’s no facet of Will that Hannibal doesn’t want to know. His connection with Will has been a stark reminder of his own human needs and weaknesses. He desires to know Will in a more tangible way, to fully experience him in the material world beyond the shared rooms of their memory palaces.

For so many years, Hannibal was utterly self-contained. He was the living antithesis of Donne’s words, not just an island, but a whole world unto himself.

He was untouchable until the moment he first reached out for Will.

When Will tells him to leave, Hannibal is stung but not surprised. He goes outside, leans against the back of the house, and waits for the sirens to come. He already knows what he must do. He understands this new variable in the equation that will help him bring the teacup back together again.

Night falls and when the sirens finally come, Hannibal steps out of the shadows and into the light. The shocked responses of Jack Crawford and his minions are terribly amusing and Hannibal revels in the opportunity to indulge his flair for the dramatic; never let it be said that Hannibal Lecter doesn’t know how to make an entrance.

“I want you to know exactly where I am. And where you can find me.” Hannibal speaks to Jack, but only has eyes for Will, his impish glance meeting Will’s icy glare through flurries of snow. Hannibal refuses to let himself be discouraged by Will’s cold response. He will thaw in time. Winter doesn’t last forever; the spring always comes and brings rebirth with it.

Hannibal was above everything and now he’s a willing supplicant down on his knees because he can’t bear living without the possibility of Will’s light on him. Will once said the light of friendship wouldn’t reach them for a million years.

Hannibal is willing to wait.

*** 

Hannibal is discouraged but not defeated when Will comes to tell him that the Dragon is dead by apparent suicide. Despite the case being all but closed, Hannibal is still optimistic about the future. The past few weeks have been extremely entertaining and a welcome change from the boredom of institutional life. He has relished the opportunity to drive a wedge between Will and his false family. It would have been better if they’d died of course, but the damage is done. No matter what Will says, they both know he can never go home again.

Things take a turn for the worse as their conversation continues and Hannibal feels the stirrings of true panic for the first time in decades. He envisioned that all this time spent working on the case would remind Will of where his true home is. But now—as Will prepares to walk away, perhaps for good—Hannibal has the sick, sinking feeling that his sacrifice may have been in vain and that he has doomed himself to this purgatory indefinitely.

Will sighs and presses his hand to the glass, a cruel parody of a benediction. Borges once said that to fall in love is to create a religion that has a fallible god. The sentiment has never felt more fitting than it does now.

Whenever Will extends his hand to Hannibal, there's always something between them. A gun. A knife. A thick pane of glass in this cage he let Will lure him into with the sting of his rejection. Will the distance between them ever be breached? Is it possible for the teacup to come back together again or has Hannibal been a fool for thinking he could ever derive an equation that would truly predict Will?

Hannibal remembers simpler days when Will said he’d kill him with his bare hands. He wouldn’t let Will succeed of course, but would welcome the intimacy of letting him try. As they speak, Hannibal lets his gaze roam over Will. He lets his eyes do what his hands cannot, and may not ever be given the opportunity to do.

“Was it good to see me?” Hannibal asks. It’s unfortunate to realize Will can hear the slight hint of desperation in his tone.

“Good? No,” Will says, and Hannibal has the distinct feeling that he has asked the wrong question. Will’s figure recedes into the darkness, leaving only his handprint in his wake. Hannibal imagines he can still see it there long after the orderlies have wiped it away.

 ***

The Dragon’s blood pools like wings around his lifeless corpse, this once worthy opponent now laid low at Will and Hannibal’s feet. They are both worse for wear, but the rush of adrenaline makes Hannibal’s injuries feel inconsequential in the aftermath of Will’s Becoming. It was a joy to see the blood against Will’s skin in the moonlight, the surety with which he wielded his blade, and the wonder in his voice when he told Hannibal it was beautiful.

Hannibal has seen some of the greatest works of art in the world and has spent his life creating his own vision of beauty wherever he goes, transforming lowly pigs into the sublime. But never in his life has he seen anything more beautiful than Will Graham reaching out to him with unadulterated love in his eyes. Will lays his head on Hannibal’s shoulder and for once there are no guns, no knives, no cages. There is no distance between them at all. Will’s warm breath on Hannibal’s neck makes his hands shake as he clings to Will’s shirt.

Everything has shifted. Every moment of Hannibal’s life is colored by this new discovery, every room in his memory palace has suddenly transformed. His whole life has been building up to this glorious moment. It was worth all the heartbreak and the pain and the _years_ to experience this, a fulfillment unlike anything he’s ever known.

When Will pushes them over the edge, Hannibal does not resist. If this is how it ends, so be it.

 _Love brought us to one death_ is his last thought before their bodies crash into the waves.

 ***

Hannibal wakes with the dawn, burgeoning sunlight streaming through the gauzy bedroom curtains. Cuba has treated them well in the year since they fell into the ocean. They spent months in Havana before moving to the private beachfront villa where they live now, not far from Varadero.

Hannibal stretches his limbs, careful not to wake Will who is still asleep beside him. With his body in repose and the sheets slung low around his hips, Will looks like Gioretti’s Saint Sebastian made flesh. Hannibal stares at him appreciatively, the dark halo of his hair, his sun-kissed skin, the curve of his shoulders, the scars that tell the story of his life. Hannibal could stare at him forever, this capricious, utterly captivating man who somehow manages to grow ever more dear to him with each passing day.

Hannibal lies down on his side and scoots in close enough to breathe in the sea salt scent of Will’s hair. He goes swimming in the ocean nearly every day and Hannibal loves to watch him, to see the firm lines of his body cutting through the water. At first, he had wondered if their fall might lead Will to shy away from the ocean, but he should have known better. Water has always favored Will. Even when he tried to make it his grave, the ocean spit them back out again born anew.

“Did you just smell me?” Will mumbles. Hannibal smiles but doesn’t reply. He only leans in closer and breathes Will in again, his lips pressed softly to Will’s brow.

“So how am I, Dr. Lecter? I assume we’ve reached a point in our relationship where you'd actually tell me if I had a life-threatening illness.” There’s a wry humor in his tone, but no real malice. Even if there were, Will’s sharp edges have never bothered Hannibal.

“You’re perfectly fine, Will.”

Will grumbles something unintelligible under his breath and Hannibal smiles. As much as he likes watching Will sleeping, he also loves him in these early morning moments. They lie facing each other, their scents mingled in the pocket of warmth between them.

Will yawns and stretches. “How long were you watching me sleep this time?”

“Not long. Perhaps only ten minutes or so.”

“Creepy.”

“You were watching me sleep when I woke up yesterday.”

Will breathes out a short huff of laughter. “I never claimed I’m not creepy, too.”

Hannibal’s fingers itch to touch Will, but he’s willing to wait— _always_ willing to wait—to see what Will does next.

There’s a knowing look in Will’s eyes as he reaches out and casually caresses Hannibal’s cheek.

_Manipulative boy._

Hannibal doesn’t mind. The novelty of Will being the one to initiate contact hasn’t worn off and he doesn’t think it ever will. Will runs his fingers down the center of Hannibal’s chest and then across his sternum, marking the same incision points a surgeon would follow to cut in and get to the heart of someone. It is not an intent to do harm, but rather a fond retracing of a well-worn path; Will has had Hannibal’s heart for years.

Hannibal strokes Will’s cheek and stares at him until he flushes red under the scrutiny. It’s terribly endearing.

“Stop.”

“Stop what?” Hannibal asks, unable to resist teasing.

Will rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean. The way you look at me… like I’ve done something extraordinary. Like you’d set the whole world on fire if I asked you to. I'm not sure I'm worth all that.”

“You should hardly be surprised, Will. I’ve looked at you like this for years.”

Will’s cheeks flush even brighter as he looks away, discomfited by and desirous of Hannibal’s attention in equal measure. Hannibal laughs, utterly charmed.

“You’re always a delight, Will.”

Will punches him lightly on the shoulder. “You’re the worst. You just like making me uncomfortable.”

Hannibal shrugs unapologetically. Will rolls his eyes, but there’s a little smile curving up the corners of his lips. This is all just part of the game, the push and pull between them.

“Should I demonstrate just how much I appreciate you, Will?”

“I’m not going to argue with that.”

“Really? This is a first.”

“Just shut up and touch me.”

Hannibal smiles as he places a hand on the center of Will’s chest and gently pushes Will onto his back. Will goes easily, not putting up any show of resistance. Will licks his lips and stares up at Hannibal in anticipation. His breath hitches when Hannibal runs a finger across his collarbones and then down to tease his nipples, pinching them just to the point of pain before letting go.

Hannibal flings the sheet away from Will’s hips, leaving him completely exposed. Will’s cock is already half-hard, but Hannibal ignores it for now. Instead, he runs his fingers up and down Will’s obliques, making him shudder with pleasure. He traces along the seam of the smile across Will’s belly, this most beloved of scars. As much as Hannibal enjoys tormenting Will, he himself can only take so much. Teasing fingers are replaced with firm hands all over Will’s body, the supple skin of his biceps, his thighs, his calves, his knees, the arches of his feet. His skin is flushed red everywhere Hannibal has touched him, like he’s been branded with the evidence of Hannibal’s hunger. The only place Hannibal avoids is Will’s cock, much to Will’s obvious frustration. He’s fully hard now, precome dripping from the rosy head.

Despite the many times they’ve done this now, the sight of his hands on Will is still breathtaking. Hannibal wasn’t prepared for how different it would feel to be invited, to be wanted and welcomed. To be allowed to bask in Will’s radiance and press oblations into his skin. Will has never been the fragile teacup Jack envisioned him to be, but he is precious. Unique. He deserves to be cherished and challenged in equal measure, to experience the full, multi-faceted nature of Hannibal’s regard.

“Come here,” Will says, practically growling. Hannibal lays down on top of Will and they both moan as bare skin meets bare skin. The touch of Will’s body against his will always be electric, but it’s no longer a shock. It’s a steady hum, a current flowing back and forth between the two of them.

Will wraps his arms around Hannibal and pulls him close as they rub their cocks together. They’re both hard, but there’s no urgency in it. It’s a lazy kind of pleasure, the kind that makes heat pool in the base of Hannibal’s spine, content to let banked embers slowly build into a blaze. Will rolls them over, shifting his weight until he’s on top of Hannibal. His lips are soft and his stubble is pleasantly rough against Hannibal’s skin when they kiss. Hannibal loses himself in the slide of their lips and the heat of their bodies pressed close. They break for air only when they absolutely have to, panting and breathless as they stare at each other.

“Can I…”

“Yes,” Hannibal says.

Will frowns. “You don't even know what I was going to ask,” he says, but of course Hannibal does. He recognizes the tentative sound of Will’s voice, the blend of hunger and uncertainty in his eyes whenever he asks for this. As if Hannibal would ever deny him. As if he hasn't already burrowed his way inside Hannibal in every way that matters.

Hannibal grabs the lube from the bedside table and hands it to Will.

“Don't look so smug,” Will says, attempting to come across as annoyed, but only managing to sound pleased. After resting one of Hannibal’s legs on his shoulder, Will slicks his fingers with lube and slowly presses two of them inside.

Hannibal isn’t sure what he likes more, the delicious stretch or the avid way Will looks at him, watching his fingers disappear into Hannibal’s body over and over again.

Last night, their roles were reversed and Hannibal was the one pressing deep inside Will. Will likes it hard and fast, on his back, his head thrown back in ecstasy. He likes firm hands pinning his wrists down above his head and gentle hands on his body afterwards, stroking his hair and guiding him into sleep.

Will drizzles more lube on his fingers and slides a third one in. Hannibal’s breath hitches and Will smirks down at him.

“Don’t look so smug.”

“So, you’re the only one who’s allowed to be smug, is that it? Obviously I'm not fucking you hard enough if you’re still coherent enough to talk back to me.”

Hannibal cries out when Will thrusts his fingers in harder and sucks Hannibal’s cock into his mouth.

“Will, _enough_. If you keep that up I’ll come now, and I’d much rather do that with you inside me.”

“Fuck. Okay, yes.” Will pulls his fingers out and Hannibal only has a few moments to feel bereft before Will slicks his cock and starts pushing inside.

While Will likes being fucked mercilessly from the start, Hannibal prefers a slower burn. He wants to savor the feeling of having Will inside him, to catalogue every moment and remind himself of just how far they’ve come. Hannibal has been fortunate enough to witness Will’s transformation from a man who used to keep him at arm’s length to one who has found deliverance in his embrace.

The slow grind of Will’s hips is exquisite as he pushes deep and makes a home for himself inside Hannibal’s welcoming heat. Hannibal groans, toes curling in pleasure as he grinds up to meet every thrust.

“God, you feel so good,” Will moans. “I want you every fucking day, just like this.”

“You have me,” Hannibal chokes out, “just as I have you.” He wraps his legs around Will’s waist and Will’s broken moan echoes through the room as the new angle allows him to slide in even deeper. He digs his knees into the mattress to give himself more leverage, thrusting hard enough to make the bed frame shake, hard enough to make Hannibal feel it deep down in his bones. Hannibal’s cock rubs between their bellies and he arches up for more friction.

They lock eyes, caught up in an endless feedback loop of desire. In this moment they are one, every line blurred, every distance bridged, every wound mended.

Will adjusts the angle of his hips again until he’s nailing Hannibal’s prostate with each thrust. The heady scent of sweat and sex fills the air as they both gasp and moan, voices merged in an indecent chorus. Hannibal can tell just how close Will is to coming from the way his breathing hitches and he bites his bottom lip.

“Hannibal, oh _fuck_. I can’t… I can’t hold back.”

“Then don’t. Never hold back. Not with me, Will.”

Will’s hips stutter and lose all sense of rhythm as he falls apart, surrendering to pleasure and coming deep inside Hannibal. Hannibal drinks in the sight of him, his flushed face and reddened lips, each shaky breath and shift of expression. Will allows himself a few moments to collapse on top of Hannibal before reaching down and mercilessly stroking his cock. It only takes a few pumps before Hannibal is coming too, the pleasure intensified by the knowledge that he has Will’s full, undivided attention.

They exchange several lingering kisses as they come down from the high. Before things get too uncomfortable, Will grabs a washcloth from the bathroom and gives them both a perfunctory clean up before flopping back down on the bed. Will lies on his back and Hannibal curls up next to him, drawn to him like a gravitational force.

“It’s still early,” Will says. “Go back to sleep, Hannibal.”

Hannibal’s heavy eyelids flutter closed, his body content to obey Will’s command. He sighs, burrows his nose into the hollow of Will’s throat and breathes him in. When Will’s arms enfold him, Hannibal can’t help but marvel at the sensation. In all his life he has never felt more seen, more cared for, more loved.


End file.
